Blood Brothers
by Maya Sushi
Summary: Blood Brothers. That's what we are. Because my blood is tied to your soul. And your blood is all over my hands.  a series of one-shots about the Elric brothers
1. I

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own young Ed and young Al, nor living Trisha. I do not own my reference to the lost city of Xerxes, and I do not own fifth graders.

_**A/N:**_ Woah! No, it isn't a oneshot, it almost was, but then I decided it wasn't. So it isn't. It will be a collection of one shots, but they will tie together. In a way. So, tell me what you think, I suppose. :)

* * *

_**Blood Brothers**_

_**That's what we are. Because my blood is tied to your soul. And your blood is all over my hands.**_

* * *

_**I.**_

Edward ran down the country hillside with a skip in his step. His messy blonde hair whipped against the back of his neck and tangled in the breeze. Surely his mom was going to be angry when she brought the brush through the rat's nest it was bound to become before he donned his pajamas and got ready for bed tonight. But he'd be glad for the argument, however. He was eight now. He could brush his own hair. He would tell her so, firmly, and then he would insist upon doing so. And she would smile and be so proud of what a responsible young man he was becoming.

Al would probably jump at the chance for attention. Grab the hairbrush from his hands and insist she brush his hair for him.

Ed would laugh because Al was such a little kid sometimes, and Al would be mad. He would clench his little fists and declare Ed to be "Mean!" and run out of the house. Run down to the river.

Ed would always come and find him later, but he would never apologize.

The river finally came into view and Edward slowed down to a walk. Putting his excitement on hold when it threatened to bubble up inside of him. He could see the singular head of light brunette hair that faced toward the currents. He watched as the small boy poked his finger into the water, watching the liquid swirl around his digit that obstructed its gentle path.

"Hey," Ed said when he reached his younger brother. He didn't sit beside him and stare into the clear mess of fluid and rocks and foliage that was this river that Alphonse always found comfort in. He never did. He stayed on his feet, one hand outstretched, as his brother turned and looked up at him. He reached out and grabbed a hold of Edward's hand, hoisting himself up and off of the ground and standing beside him.

"Hey," Alphonse mumbled in response, sounding less than enthused.

Edward thought back to what had led to this, his brother's retreat to the river and ultimately, the presence of the knife now resting in his front left pocket.

Edward had been with a few of the older boys from school. He had promised Al that he would go home today right away and that they would practice a new transmutation that they had just read about, but the two boys had approached him immediately upon dismissal and he had felt very... very proud... cool, even, upon their request that he come with them that afternoon. These boys were fifth graders! The fact that they even knew of him filled his little heart with a strange sense of vanity and satisfaction. He realized later that it was wrong of him to ditch his own brother for a chance to be more popular. But if he was hanging out with _fifth graders, _he doubted that the children in third grade would have the guts to call him a nerd anymore.

They called him a nerd for a reason, where as the other kids in his grade would have happily gone along with anything that these two boys would have asked of them – it didn't take Edward long to figure out they were using him.

Being a scapegoat was not something that Ed found he greatly appreciated. He had had his fair share of undeserved blame offered up on to him, but he also knew that they were not trying to blame him, they were trying to make him deserve the blame. He had a good sense of what was morally correct and was was morally wrong. His father had left him at a young age, that was wrong. His mother had stayed, that was right. Winry's parents had been killed, that was wrong. Alphonse had stolen a pencil once, that was wrong, and the teacher had told him so. He had cried. Breaking into a house and stealing a man's gun was wrong, very wrong, and he immediately knew this.

"We just want to see it Ed, it'll be cool, we'll let you see it," Edward wasn't very comfortable with the casual tone that the boys used with him. There was some underlying presence in it, that told him they were talking to him like a child. As if he could not possibly understand.

"All you have to do is go in through that window and go into the cabinet. It should be right in there,"

And if you get caught, we'll be Scot-free! That was the part they were forgetting to mention. Edward heard it all the same. He wasn't dumb. He was, in fact, quite smart.

"Come on Ed, we're only asking this little bitty thing of you. Or are you chicken? Because we could find someone cooler to hang out with."

The sky was beginning to grow dark, and Edward thought that he probably should had just gone home to Alphonse right away. He was probably worried about him, when all he had really done was abandon him for some no-good kids who didn't really want to be his friends in the first place. But all the same, the word "chicken" rang in his ears like some sort of alarm that he couldn't get to shut off. It infuriated him and made his jaw clench with determination. He almost considered doing what it was that they wanted him to do, but it hit him that that was exactly what they were driving at. He quickly redirected his anger in their direction.

"You're only trying to find someone to do this for you so you don't get in trouble. You two are obviously the only cowards here,"

The two boys had looked down at him from their considerably larger heights with an expression of genuine surprise across both of their faces. Clearly they had not thought that he would ever not go through with what they wanted. And they had also not expected and insult to boot, their own words pitted against them instead of the small child they had pressured into this heist.

The slap came unexpected as well, and Edward felt his jaw scream in protest as the older boy's hand made contact with the side of his face. The force of it made him stumble back and trip over his own feet, landing hard on his buttocks at the edge of Mr. Simone's carefully tended yard. The laughter that accompanied the violence made ashamed tears prick at the corners of his eyes, the sharp sting of pain that shot up through his face did not help, and he felt very weak suddenly. Anger flew through him again, how dare they make fun of him like this. They were cruel, and irrational. Solving their problems in the very first way that crossed their mind, regardless of what it was they had to hit, or who it was.

Edward had no problem with this manner of dealing with problems, and he would show them that they weren't the only ones who could land a good hit to the face.

He wasn't slapping though. The sissies.

His small fist connected with the oldest boy's nose and blood immediately spurted from the boy's nostrils upon impact. Ed felt a satisfying rush of adrenaline and he turned to the other boy, propelling himself forward and pushing every ounce of his body weight into the other boys abdomen. They fell to the ground in a harsh tumble when he collided with the fifth grader that had slapped him earlier, the slightly younger boy who would do anything to make the oldest one give him an appreciative glance. It didn't take much to make Edward twice as mad at the boy then he was when he began attacking him. He thought of how easy it would have been for this boy to decide to slap Alphonse if he looked at him wrong, or wouldn't sneak into a house and steal a gun. And both of those things, the slapping, and the pressure that the boy wouldn't think twice about placing on his younger brother, made Edward's anger spike to new levels.

Before he knew it his fists were plowing their way into the boy's face again and again, and the older boy was yelling at him to stop. His hand was clawing at his face that was now covered blood that he had accidentally smeared across his own cheeks when he fell. But Edward's temper would not be cooled, especially not by the boy who had called him a chicken, a coward, when really that's what these two were.

Two arms wrapped around his shoulders and threw him off the boy he had been straddling moments before, and Edward watched as Mr. Simone fussed over the fifth graders that had so merciless attempted to set him up. They deserved what they had gotten, but as the middle-aged man looked back in his direction, his eyes cold, Edward knew that he was the one who was in trouble.

When Mr. Simone had gotten both of the fifth graders attended to – it seemed Edward had managed to fracture the youngest boy's jaw, while the other simply had a bloodied nose – Edward had been driven silently back to his own house. The look on his mother's face when she saw his bruised face and the blood on his knuckles was horrible, and the horror on Al's was worse. Trisha was, at the very least, disappointed, Edward seemed to get into fights more and more as of late, and this had certainly been the worst. It was beyond her how her sweet little eight year old had managed to fracture a ten year old's jaw, and she was terribly mad at him in the first place. For he had not only been trespassing on Mr. Simone's property, but why had he been out so late with those two boys in the first place? When his brother had been waiting patiently with him all evening, he had missed dinner, and surely he should have known that she would have been worried sick.

The next day Alphonse was positively furious with him. A long argument had followed his arrival home between the two of him. In which Edward prepared to defend his honor and his the seven year old would simply not hear a word of it. He was convinced that Ed had done something unspeakable, and had been about to do something even worse. The older brother he looked up to had ditched him to do awful things and he couldn't stand him anymore, he had said. There had been mentions of brotherhood and how sad he had made him, and about how Edward must not have loved him at all. And all the while Edward had tried to explain that those two boys, _had it coming._ Alphonse, however, did not find this to be an appropriate explanation, and had claimed he was a bad brother.

"Fine," Edward had finally sighed loudly, exasperated, "maybe I don't want to be your brother anyway!"

And that had done it. Alphonse had screwed up his face in a look of pain and sadness and he had ran out the door as fast as his little legs could carry him, a shout of "I hate you!" following him out the threshold and down the front porch steps.

Edward had stood in his wake and watched his mother shake her head disapprovingly.

"Go after him," she said, as if he should already have been out the door.

The disappointed look she gave him in that moment broke Edward's heart, and he had ran out of the door with a frustrated yell that did not form any words, despite having no intentions of finding Alphonse.

So, he had gone to the one place that always calmed him down. The library.

In those books he had found something that made him ripe with excitement, and, forgetting the pain that was shooting through his own jaw, he had scrambled home. In his father's old study he had found a pocket knife with a thick wooden casing that was stained a dark red color and filled with intricate carvings that seemed old in style. When he looked closely they seemed to depict some sort of city, and the people that lived in it, but he paid it no more than a second of appreciation before dropping it in his left pocket and running back out of the door. On his way to the river where he knew he would find Alphonse, who, stubbornly, would wait there all day if he had to.

"Guess what I read about in the library today?" Edward asked Al, pulling the pocket knife out of his pocket and holding it up as he turned to face his younger brother.

"Is that dad's knife?" Al asked, "Why do you have dad's knife?"

"You know how chemical bonds can only be broken down by alchemy, Al? Like the water in that river. It's just one molecule of oxygen bonded to two molecule of hydrogen. They're very different things, and bonded together they create one singular substance. H2O. Water. Alchemy can break it down but it always gets put back together again," Edward looked at the river as he spoke, pulling the blade out form where it lay inside of the wood and watching as it glinted in the sunlight, "I read a story today about two brothers. They went through a lot of stuff and they fought a lot but in the end they ended up alright. In the beginning they cut open their palms and they shook hands and they said that they were blood brothers, and that it would hold them together through anything. And in the end it turned out that it did." He dragged the tip of the blade across the soft part of his hand lightly, so that it hardly hurt at all, but it still drew a bit of blood.

Alphonse eyed the blade nervously, "But-"

"I promise it didn't even hurt," Ed said, "you can do it yourself."

Al bit his bottom lip and grimaced, taking the knife from Ed's hands. With quite a bit of hesitation, he pulled the side of the knife across his palm and winced, tears coming into his eyes as he watched the red liquid bubble up to the edges of the cut. Edward patted him on the back with his other hand, trying to reassure him that it would be fine. It was only a little cut after all, practically like a paper cut.

He held out his hand and Al clasped his own small fist around Ed's, their grasp was firm and filled with promises.

"So you know what this means right?" Ed asked, "We're gonna go through a lot of stuff and we're gonna fight a lot but in the end things are gonna end up alright."

"Does that mean this is our beginning?"

"Of course, and all we have to do to get to our end is remember that we'll be brothers forever. Nothing can change that."

"Like what you said about the water right?"

"Yeah, Al, alchemy can break it apart, but it always gets put back together again. We might break apart but we'll end up together again, because we've got this bond between us. We might look a little different in the end, but we'll still be brothers."

"Okay," Al said, "I'm sorry for saying I hated you."

"I'm sorry for saying I didn't want to be your brother." Ed said, and he thought for a moment, pulling his lips into a crooked smile and squeezing Al's hand again, "Blood brothers?" he asked.

"Blood brothers." Al affirmed, with a smile of his own.


	2. II

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Also, none of these poems belong to me. I have tried to include as many of the authors that I could find and give the credit to them. The first one, however, is just about one of my favorite poems ever, if that counts for anything. Thanks!

_**A/N: **_This is the story of the suitcase :) . (and of the suitcase that came next)

* * *

_**In this story he is carrying**_

_**two heavy suitcases up a steep hill road.**_

_**The suitcases are old and do not have wheels**_

_**but if he puts them down for only a moment**_

_**they roll down the hill all the same.**_

_**At the top of the hill is a small gray town.**_

_**It is an old town, a town without wheels.**_

_**Nothing rolls in and out of the stone gray town.**_

_**It begins to rain.**_

_**The blacktop becomes a slick slide.**_

_**The gray town begins to roll toward him.**_

_**It gathers speed**_

_**but now he is also sliding back down the hill.**_

_**The heavy suitcases**_

_**are adding weight to his momentum.**_

_**He thinks (correctly)**_

_**that he and the town might arrive**_

_**at the bottom of the hill at the same time.**_

_**He imagines (correctly) that when his flesh**_

_**hits the stone town there will be a mess.**_

_**He lets go of the two heavy suitcases**_

_**wondering if this will help.**_

_**He can't quite figure out the ratio,**_

_**the speed-weight-momentum-exponential**_

_**but it can't hurt.**_

_**The suitcases stay where they drop**_

_**as if full of immovable lead.**_

_**They do not slip an inch.**_

_**He watches them**_

_**as he continues to slide quickly backward.**_

_**There will be a mess if I cannot gather speed**_

_**(he thought).**_

_**The ending will be messy if the ending ends now**_

_**(he thought)**_

_**and I have no change of clothes**_

_**for long days of escaping**_

_**(he thought needlessly).**_

_**He wonders if (downhill somewhere)**_

_**there are motels to jump sideways into.**_

_**Motels that do not slide an inch,**_

_**motels that do not inquire why you have no luggage.**_

_**He wonders if his suitcases are now crushed?**_

_**He listens to the grinding roar**_

_**of the town descending on him.**_

_**Exhausted, he turns to face the on-rushing town**_

_**but wait,**_

_**there is more somewhere**_

_**but wait, there is an ending somewhere.**_

_**He is prepared to wait**_

_**but not forever,**_

_**no not for an eternity.**_

_**No he is braver than that (he thinks).**_

_**No he his heavier than that (he thinks).**_

_**No he is more resilient, resourceful**_

_**and significant**_

_**but in this story**_

_**he is still sliding and waiting.**_

_**He is still hoping**_

_**that he will get somewhere**_

_**before the messy ending.**_

_(a poem called "The Man With Heavy Luggage" -author unknown.)_

_

* * *

_

_**II.**_

The flames from a house that would never be forgotten falling away to ash rose up from behind him, as he took step after step, moving away, forward, onward.

Alphonse glanced over at him and looked him over quickly. He didn't look back, didn't dare to look back, "Do you have everything you need brother?"

Edward's chin rose to its proud peak, his eyes hard. He waved a small brown suitcase in the air before him and shot his eyes toward Alphonse for a moment, "'Course I do."

"That's it?" Alphonse asked, wary, unsure. He was glad he couldn't smell the smoke, feel the heat on his back. He didn't turn around, didn't dare to turn around.

"That's it." Edward said solidly. He heard Winry quietly call their names and for a moment almost stopped walking. He saw this, saw himself and his own hesitation, and cringed.

That was certainly it.

He did not turn around.

* * *

The brown suitcase lay on the fiery sand of the desert. He watched as his brother fell boneless to the floor of the harsh terrain, and watched as his foot slowly sank into the grainy, dry, soil. Hardly any pore space, Alphonse reasoned, sand and clay, while he had plenty of empty areas to be filled.

He found the concern he had abandoned was patiently awaiting his return, and as he fell deeper into the sand, he watched as Edward's right arm gave unsteady movements. They looked like twitches, uncontrolled, hard winces that jerked the metal for but a moment at a time.

"Fuck..." Edward drawled in the classy, respectable manner he usually presented things.

Alphonse moved quickly, trying to make a considerable effort to stop himself from falling under the sand once more. He watched as a bead of sweat made its way down his brother's face before disappearing beneath his collar. It must have been really hot.

Edward sighed and proceeded to drag the brown case in front of him, propping it upright and using it to lever himself up from the unsteady ground. His left leg dug a little too far in and his balance shifted, sending him back on his stomach once more, and he growled, "This desert sucks..." he ground out, spitting out the sand that crunched beneath his clenched, gnashing teeth.

Alphonse tried his best to reach his brother's side, "Here brother, I'll help you," he said, reaching out a hand. He watched as Edward's eyes shot up toward him and then back to his hand quickly, a moment of hesitation.

Alphonse gasped, "Oh! I forgot," whenever they were somewhere like this his armor got so hot that it would burn Edward at the touch.

"No." Edward replied, "It's fine. Thanks Al," he said as he reached up, no hesitation now, and grabbed Alphonse's hand with his left.

Why? Alphonse wondered. Why not his right? Edward's face made no sign of any sort of discomfort however, and a huge smile lit up his face. He patted Alphonse on the back and looked out at the horizon.

"Let's get going then?" He asked, taking a single step forward.

"Yeah," Alphonse agreed, walking after him, "hey, brother?"

"What?"

"Want me to carry that for you?"

* * *

"_**Take mine," Mom said, hearing my suitcase was full.**_

"_**I won't need luggage, the next place I go."**_

_(an excerpt from the poem "Suitcase" by Charles Harper Webb.)_

* * *

"Mom!" Edward's voice rang out through the house loud and clear, and Alphonse sighed, placing another pair of socks into his suitcase. He closed it with a loud _clang_ and snapped the clasps together. Admiring his handiwork, he set his small fists on his hips and nodded respectfully to the dinosaur covered bag sitting on his bed.

"Mom!" Edward called again, "Mom! I can't find my suitcase anywhere!"

They were only going to be gone for a weekend. Trisha wanted to go see one of her old friends who was staying with her mother in a town a few hours from here, by train, and the two brothers had been more than excited to travel for the first time. They had always wanted to see what was outside of Resembool, beyond the too green grass and the grazing cows, beyond the quiet little town. And neither of them had _ever_ ridden on a train. This was exciting, and Alphonse was jittery and nervous in anticipation. Edward, however, seemed as if he was determined to delay this trip.

"Mom! It's not where I _left it! _I can't find it _anywhere!" _

Alphonse opened up the door to his room to see the seven-and-a-half year old rummaging excitedly through the closet across from their room. There were clothes and shoes and old, dusty side tables, and books with ripping spines, and pieces of broken vases that used to house beautiful flowers spread all around him. He hesitated in the doorway, seeing the glass, and his blue-gray eyes widened quickly. "Brother!" he called, "There's glass in there! Be careful!"

"I _know _Al!" he sounded exasperated and irritated, throwing his arms to his sides and turning around to glance at Alphonse with a 'leave me alone I'm doing something' look that only a sibling could truly master. Alphonse felt his lip pushing outward in a pout, he hadn't done anything, why was his brother mad at him? He took a step forward and Edward's expression changed all too quickly.

"Al! Don't! You could trip and fall and then –" and then Edward fell, his sentence hanging in the air above him as he skidded on his elbows into the remnants of the once beautiful vase. He yelped in surprise before crying out, tears brimming his golden eyes, watching the small silvers of glass that had cut cruelly into his small arms. Blood trickled down his forearm and Alphonse's eyes followed the scarlet liquid down in one steady drop before backpedaling back a few feet a quickly as he could manage.

"Mom!" It was Alphonse who called her name now, as Edward began to cry, holding one of his bleeding elbows to his chest and successfully neglecting the other. "Mom! Brother's hurt!"

This had Trisha running. She had been looking for something before, and was planning on answering Edward eventually, but as she saw him, she wished she would have came to him right away. She bustled to his side, patting Alphonse on the head on the way over before scooping Edward up in her embrace. "Shh... It's okay, Ed, calm down," she cooed to the sobbing boy, "come on, let's go into the bathroom and get a look at that, alright."

Edward pressed his mouth together into a tight line and nodded firmly, silent tears still trekking down his ruddy cheeks. Alphonse watched as his mother brought Edward into the bathroom, picking out each little piece of glass one at a time while Edward held back his cries, trying to be brave. Finally, he was adorned with a plentiful amount of colorful band aids, which seemed to make him happy enough. Although, he still hadn't found his suitcase.

"My suitcase, I can't find it," Edward muttered, hugging his mother tightly around her neck. His band aids were stark against her brown hair, bright primary colors and one green one, long and thin, that she had found from an package that Winry had given them from Granny Pinako.

Trisha set him on the closed lid of the toilet, telling him to wait and sweeping past Alphonse, lithe and quick, but motherly even in this action, out of the room. Alphonse moved to his brother's side, where they looked at the bandages together and smiled and laughed. The situation seemed almost funny when they looked back at it, and Edward agreed with a smile, though his elbows still stung with the pain of it.

She was back in moments, an old, tan suitcase held in her hands, "My old suitcase, I used it when I was a girl." she explained.

"You can have it Edward, take good care of it okay?"

* * *

_**I have a vision**_

_**of unhappiness**_

_**and me pushing this**_

_**behind**_

_**and saying**_

_**I want air, life, taste, fun**_

_**and running,**_

_**I make it to the station.**_

_**Why are there those black **_

_**suitcases, waiting?**_

_(a poem called "The Suitcase" by Anne Le Marquand.)_

_

* * *

_

Alphonse ran as fast as he could, seeing his brother's retreating back before him, and hearing the train whistle bellowing out and reverberating through the air all around him.

"That's our train!" his brother had called, only moments before, turning his head in the direction of the now departing vehicle.

"Don't worry about, we'll get the next one," had been his reply after which his brother's golden eyes had darted quickly from him to the train and than back again, and then suddenly, he was off.

Alphonse ran as fast as he could, seeing his brother's retreating back before him, and hearing the train whistle bellowing out and reverberating through the air all around him. He caught up in moments, and passed the blonde boy in another. The end of the train was quickly approaching, the platform with one set of stairs, railings lining the sides, and he was there in the third moment, throwing himself upward in one smooth motion and landing on the platform easily. He looked back, and saw his brother's face screwed up in effort, as he pumped his one hand that was not holding anything and his legs fell repeatedly to the ground beneath him. The suitcase that he held in his right hand was dragging at his side. He was fast, very fast, but the train was fast too.

"Come on, brother!" Alphonse called, thinking quickly to what he would do if his brother didn't make it to the train. What would he do? They had never been in a situation like that before.

Edward ran as fast as he could, seeing his brother's retreating front before him, and hearing the train whistle bellowing out and reverberating through the air all around him. And, without a second of hesitation (he did not want to see himself hesitate anymore, didn't want to see what he wouldn't do, only what he would) he relaxed the fingers of his right hand. His feet pushed harder against the ground, and he dove forward, reaching out his right hand for the railing of the train. Metal hit metal, and hit metal once more as Alphonse's arms reached out and wrapped around his limb, pulling him the rest of the way onto the speeding locomotive.

The two brother's looked back, and watched as the suitcase tumbled across the ground, in another direction, another place (the past) far away from them now. Out of their life.

"Why did you do that?"

"It was weighing me down."

Alphonse had more questions to ask, about his brother's rash actions, about the way he didn't think before he did anything, about the way he didn't hesitate even once (and what was weighing you down? The suitcase? Or the past?). What would he do? When it came to the end? How far would he go?

"She told me to take good care of it," Edward sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, "think she's mad?"

"Of course not, you let go of what you have to, right?"

"Yeah, Al, that's right."

* * *

Edward moved through his dorm quickly, glancing at his brother, whole and alive, in the doorway, waiting for him.

"Are you all packed already Al?" Edward asked, amazed at his efficiency.

"Of course," Alphonse said, "I've got what I need,"

Indeed he did, Edward noticed, glancing over at his side of the room and noticing its neatness. Such a strong contrast to the messiness of his own. He sure as hell wasn't going to make his side that neat, though, there were people who's _job_ it was to do that, and if he was leaving this room, he didn't care what it looked like (not that he had before, he was never here anyway). Somehow, even with his considerable lack of material possessions, he had still managed to make the room a nest of ideas and messes. Almost impossible to sort through and find what was substantial, consequential. What was important.

What he wanted to bring with him when he went back home.

Edward was in the middle of lifting a few blankets that had been thrown haphazardly over the a pile of notes and research journals, underneath which a few old books and trusty pens lay buried, when he suddenly paused, looking up at Alphonse, "I don't even have anything to put this stuff in,"

"Oh," Alphonse said, his face falling into a look of recollection and surprise, shockingly expressive in everything that he did, "that's right."

Edward changed the purpose of his search now, no longer looking for what he wanted to pack away, but for something to pack these things into. Not noticing what his brother was doing beside him, as he took a single, small, dark brown suitcase and emptied its contents onto his own, neatly made bed. (It was filled with drawings that he had done, at night when he couldn't sleep, and at hospitals as he waited for his injured brother to get better) Edward glanced over at him in surprise, as he offered up the case with a smile.

"Here, you can have it, take good care of it okay?"

Edward looked at the suitcase, his golden eyes roaming over to the bed filled with drawings, "don't you want those?" he asked, feeling the loss already. Something so personal to his brother, left in this corporate, cold place. He simply couldn't allow it.

"No, I'd rather have you have a new suitcase, you know? I mean, it's not like you're old one, and I'm sure it'll never be quite like it, but it's pretty close and I mean –" the words spilled out of Alphonse's mouth quickly and he flushed in embarrassment, still holding the suitcase in outstretched hands.

"No," Edward said, grabbing the suitcase, "I mean, yeah, I love it. Really, Al," he finished it with a bright and gracious smile, but still shifted his gaze to the drawings, "Hey, you can go bring your stuff downstairs and I'll be right there okay?"

"Alright," Alphonse called, rubbing the back of his neck and turning around in a hurry, "but don't be too long, okay brother? There are people waiting for us after all."

"Yeah, there are," Edward said, with a nod and another smile. The moment Alphonse was gone, he turned around and opened the new suitcase, "take good care of you, huh? Guess I have to do good on that promise this time."

* * *

_**If I could pack my suitcase and all 'round the world I'd roam,**_

_**I would be most happy when I finally got back home.**_

_(an excerpt from the poem "If I Could Pack My Suitcase" by Abby Greenhill.)_

_

* * *

_

"Winry," Edward said, a proud smile on his face, as he saw his childhood friend, her blonde hair blowing in the evening breeze, as the tears of joy tumbled down her face. Her arms came away from Alphonse's form, and Edward saw the purely happy grin that was on his brother's face, and his smile grew even wider in response. He tightened his hand around the dark brown suitcase that sat in his hand. (Not a suitcase that told a story about the past, a suitcase that held a promise for the future.)

"You did it," she said with a smile, proud in her own sense.

"Yeah," Edward nodded, "I made you cry again, but this time you're not sad. I promised remember?" He knew full well that it was not what she meant, but at the same time, it was what he had done, and he had promised.

She laughed and the crinkles in the corners of her sky blue eyes said things to him that spoke of joy and love, "Of course, of course that's what you would say,"

"I keep my promises," Edward clarified, "right Al?" he stuck out his right fist, and smiled as Alphonse extended his own to return the gesture.

The next few days would be the happiest days of the Elric brother's life, and the new suitcase would lie, open, on the foot of Edward's bed for many days, empty (waiting. Waiting for the next adventure,) And Alphonse's drawings would be tacked, inch by inch, across the wall above the very same bed. Telling stories of their own (about adventure, about waiting).

"That's it?" Alphonse asked.

"That's it." Edward said solidly.

He did not turn around.

* * *

_**A/N: **_Done! I liked this piece. And when I was looking for poems I found all of them very interesting, especially the one that I used in the beginning. It's my new favorite poem :) but I've already said that haven't I. Hoped you liked it! Love you guys!


	3. III

_**Disclaimer: **_DISCLAIMEDDD!

_**A/N: **_Yes. Thank you. I would like some of what he's having. No, no, not him, the other man. Yes, that one. With the pasta. Yeah. Him.

* * *

_**III.**_

_**

* * *

**__**How do you prove that something that can't be described, can't be seen, exists?**_

* * *

"It's been bothering me Al,"

"What has, brother?"

"That you thought you weren't real, that you never were, that you were fake and I'd made you up and –"

Alphonse stopped him before they began to tread on ground he thought they'd left behind (because sometimes, in the dead of the night, he still wasn't sure. That he was real, that he wasn't imagined, created. Wondered if he had ever even known what it was like to feel, to be of flesh and the sweet makings of a child. But he would never let Edward know this) "Ed," the rarity of his brother's name made the golden-child on the bed across from him tense up with the seriousness of it, "don't."

Edward suddenly sounded horrified, "Al! No! I wasn't saying that it_ bothered _me, I only meant that I'd been thinking about it," he sat up, his covers and sheets flying in all directions, his hands came out in a pleading gesture, "Oh God, Al, don't think that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said it that way,"

"Brother! Brother, it's fine, I didn't think you meant it like that, calm down," Alphonse was repulsed by the sheer number of times he had to inform his brother of things of this sort – the "everything can't be your fault", the "you couldn't do anything about it", and even, more recently, the "I promise I don't hate you, I could never hate you," sort.

Edward visibly relaxed, laying down ever-so-slowly and raising his hands so that he could tuck them neatly behind his loosed hair. A position reminiscent of each and every one of their night time conversations, and one that would be repeated in many nights to come, "I was thinking, I just want you to know, that you're the most... The most real thing I've ever known Al... You're so real to me, more than anything, and I'll spend the rest of my life convincing you that you are if that's how long it takes."

Alphonse made to reply, but Edward was far from done.

"I mean, you're my _brother_ Al. I couldn't even possibly make up something so real. I don't even have enough good in me to imagine something as great as you, just look at yourself, you're great... I might not... Act like I see you that way all the time. I get mad at you a lot, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry that it's taking so long for me to fix everything. I need you to know that I'll do it. No matter what it takes I'll fix you."

"...and you'll fix yourself too," Alphonse reminded him, because it seemed as if that part of the deal appeared less and less as time went on.

"...yeah... Just, I haven't... I mean... Al, if anything wasn't real, it wouldn't be you. It'd be me, or... I don't know, the world. This whole world Al, you're more real than everything in it. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Alphonse nodded, the creak of metal sliding against metal alerting Edward of his acknowledgment. His brother knew of every sound that every joint of his body made. (He'd watched Alphonse so closely, so dearly, because he could do nothing more than stare at the horrible thing that he had done to him sometimes, memorize every part of it so that he always knew what his brother was thinking and needing and wanting, so that he could do his best to try to keep him happy where he was. But surely he couldn't be happy. So he'd fix him. He'd fix everything) Even though sometimes Edward said things that Alphonse was positive he understood, but found later that he hadn't even come close to understanding. Some things just seemed impossible to Alphonse but were very much a feasible reality in Edward's psyche.

Like him hating his brother, that was positively ridiculous, and yet Edward has said it with such _fear _in his voice that for Alphonse, it had actually been made real for a moment.

(Edward could make anything real, with his words and his selfish-selflessness and his stubborn nympholepsy, frenzies of indescribable emotions as for all things unattainable.)

"Brother," Alphonse ventured, his own thoughts tearing through his mind like controlled fire, so perfect, so bright, "I understand, and I know I'm real. I wouldn't dare doubt you anymore. Because you could make _anything_ real, Ed, I believe in you."

"Good," Edward sighed, and he sounded suspiciously as if he had been holding his breath, "because I'm gonna make you being whole real, I'm going to make us being happy real, and I'm gonna make this whole world real if I have to to fix you."

"Maybe first you should start with getting some _real _sleep," Alphonse mumbled happily, proudly observing his brother. (He loved his brother so much. Edward didn't have to keep reassuring him, he'd never doubt his brother's abilities ever again. He believed in him. He'd be whole again someday. And Edward would save him, in the end, because that's what he did. Help people.)

Edward made an unintelligible string of words before turning over and pressing his face into the pillow as hard as he could, letting out a groan, "Are you sure you don't want me to stay up and talk with you Al?" his words were hard to hear from beneath the filter of the fabric. Alphonse looked at the clock upon the wall, it was two in the morning, and the guilt in Edward's voice was having trouble competing with the weariness.

"Don't be silly, brother, I'll still be here when you wake up."

* * *

_**A/N: **_Just a short little bit of a story that fell through my head a while ago. Hope you liked it alright :)


	4. IV

_**Disclaimer: **_Due to the cruel semblance of fate that seems to govern this world. I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist, and am currently sporting a bulky brace on my right hand.

_**A/N: **_I apologize to anyone who read this or any of my other stories, and even if you don't, you're reading this, so... I could apologize to you as well if you wanted. I've been taking forever (like always) and have decided to seek out forgiveness with this something very, very short. The reason for this being that I have sprained my thumb, possibly broken the top of it, and pulled a ligament in the palm of the same hand. I am currently sporting a horrible brace that I despise and have removed to type this, and it is taking me quite a long time, as it sorta, ya know, hurts.

Anywho, not falling back into angst yet. Sorry all my angst fans out there. Next chapter, I promise. It will also concern snow and coldness, and _sorrow _and_ pain_. I've got to stop myself before I get carried away and something in this fluffy chapter turns murderous and horrible.

_**

* * *

**__**IV**_

It had been Alphonse's first word, and he had said it every day since that moment.

"Buh... Buh-ruh... Buh-ruh-thirrr. Buhruh-tir... Buh-thuh! Buhthuh!"

Trisha Elric's eyes had grown three times in size. Her green irises alight with joy and her blushing cheeks glowing with pride. Her mouth, easy pink lips twisting into a soft, familiar grin, sought out the name of her eldest son. Her voice crashed around the room with her excitement.

She had thoroughly expected a _"Momma" _first, but this was just as good. No, this was even better.

"Buhthuh! Bruh-thuh!"

"Edward! Honey, come here!"  
"What mom?" Edward chirped in his too good speech. He was so young, and he talked so well already. She was so proud of her boys. He careened around the corner and into the kitchen, losing his balance when his socks met the tile and stumbling his way into the room.

"Careful Edward!" she chided, panic that had risen into her throat gliding back down again as she let out a relieved sigh.

"Buhthuh! Buhthuh!" Alphonse's tiny fists balled up indignantly, his face screwing up into his best semblance of demanding, determined, "Bruh-thuh!" There was a half-eaten bowl of soft fruit beside him,most of it spread across the table, across his own face, and across Trisha entirely. "Buhthuh!"

Trisha could have sworn she had never seen Edward quite so happy.

"Al..." he breathed, his face twisting into the most gigantic grin he could manage, his two missing front teeth clear in the expanse of it all. His golden eyes, so big and young, closed almost completely with the force of his expression. A dimple in his cheek exposed itself to the air, and his nostrils flared with excitement. His two small hands came together before him, and he began to clap, something that he always did when he found joy in something, "Yes, yes, yes!" he chorused, "Again, again!" and his tiny little feet padded over toward his little brother, who's fruit covered hands he grabbed, stopping their angry path to the table, and he smiled that huge toothy grin down at Alphonse.

"Buhthuh!" Alphonse repeated, his countenance quickly switching from discontentment to a reflection of the happiness in Edward's own expression. He let out a giggle that made Trisha laugh.

Edward's smile grew even wider, if that was possible, and he brought up a small hand and lifted one finger into the air. Alphonse quieted instantly, his big blue eyes drawn straight to his brother's finger, interested and concerned with what was going to happen next. His chubby little fingers rose up and wrapped around Edward's, who laughed loudly. "Look," Edward let out, his eyes glowing. He took his finger, Alphonse's small fist still wrapped around it, and pointed it at himself and then at Alphonse, who was watching all of this with an extreme amount of interest. Edward repeated the action, "Big brother," he said as their fingers touched his own chest, and then when they turned and moved toward Alphonse, he smiled wider still and said, "little brother."

"Biiiiii-guh buhthuh." Alphonse repeated, squeezing Edward's finger and shaking his hands in all directions. Edward's arm involuntarily following his motions as said brother laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Liiiiii-tle buhthuh," Edward responded, allowing his own voice to fall into Alphonse's stunted speech. His free hand moved to ruffle the small amount of light brown peach fuzz that littered Alphonse's head.

Trisha smiled, and she pointed to each of them, "Big brother, little brother." She repeated as well, then Edward turned to look at her with a smile, and she gave him a approving look, "You know this means you have to be a good big brother right?" she asked, with a small laugh.

Edward's golden eyes set with determination, and his grin set fire to Trisha's heart, "Yeah, the best."

* * *

_**A/N: **_Awe, baby Al makes me want to hug a teddy bear or something, and eat some pear baby food or something. :)

Stay cool, I think that should be my catch phrase or something, maybe I'll start ending all my chapters with that.

Stay cool ;)


	5. V

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the respective characters.

_**A/N: **_This is my favorite so far. *Self-high-five!* I was going to make it its own one-shot, but I decided to put it here instead because I haven't updated in a while. Hope you guys enjoy.

I left the end open for interpretation. Imagine the saddest ending you can think of and that's probably the one that I imagined. But if you like amazing-and-sudden-rescue-happy-fluffy ending stories, then so be it.

* * *

**_Blood Brothers_**

* * *

"_**...In the season of the snow, **_

_**in the immeasurable cold,**_

_**we grow cruel but honest; we keep**_

_**ourselves alive,**_

_**if we can, taking one after another**_

_**the necessary bodies of others, the many**_

_**crushed red flowers." - an excerpt from the poem "Cold Poem" by Mary Oliver**_

* * *

_**V. **_

Even though it's cold...

(so cold – Alphonse can't feel it, but he can see it. In his brother's breath that pours out of his mouth like a rippling fog, in the way his brother's body huddles in on itself, arms hugging around his chest to try to cradle some small amount of warmth, and the way his brother's body shivers and trembles against the icy white back drop of a world)

...something in Ed, something that Al fears and loves at the same time – something that lights Ed's eyes up with fiery passion and hard determination – possesses the young man to drape his red coat over Al's shoulders instead of his own.

_He must be crazy._

That is what Alphonse thinks, but he does not question it aloud. He is afraid of how right he might be (and he doesn't want his brother to be crazy) but there's a good chance that there used to be this switch in his head – one that used to be switched on – and it's off now. One that told him to think logically (not rashly – not forward into everything and backward into nothing).

No. That couldn't be right.

_He must be crazy._

That is what Alphonse thinks, crazy, but never illogical. Logic has run their lives for quite a long time – mathematics, science, alchemy – and was a constant, a standard of comparison on which the rest of the world could be judged. Both brothers had a mental scale, and they placed each novelty and conundrum upon it without hesitation.

They'd watch the scales tip. Logical. Illogical.

Never anywhere in between.

So no, it wasn't that Edward was no longer capable of logic (it was one of the only things his brother was still capable of – among things like diligence and tenacity). It was beyond that.

Somewhere in between.

_He must be crazy. _

Edward's logic was just different from everyone else's.

Alchemy had taken two opposing forces and melded them into one. Alchemy was a science, but it was warm, like art and hope and power – strict with rules and cold like chemistry – but still rich with energy and life.

His brother had been so enraptured by it, so consumed, that he had become just like the science he studied so arduously.

Edward was chaos.

Controlled chaos, with the mind of a genius and the diligence of a bull – as well as the stubbornness – and all the complexities of an endless enigma hat could never be puzzled out.

All the creative parts of his brain had split open and leaked into the logic parts, the science parts...

(but they hadn't flown from his nostrils and ears and eyeballs like they had for so many others, they came to life)

...and found the spirit and the courage of this science, of alchemy – and had been confused, for how had they not seen the fire here before? Been drawn to it?

Then a transmutation had taken place.

In Edward's mind there was no discrepancy between logic and creative thought – yet he could not see the fault of emotion in his equations – and his mind refused to inform him of the fact that he had _choices._

To him, there was only what must be done.

And...

_He must be crazy._

Because...

(and he doesn't want his brother to be crazy)

No.

Because...

Even though it's cold...

(so cold – Alphonse can't feel it, but he can hear it. In his brother's head as his body rattles and his teeth come together again and again, in the way each sigh that escapes his brother's icy lips is trembling in itself, and in the way the world seizes around them, over and over and it's screaming)

...something in Ed, something that Al fears and loves at the same time – something that fills Edward's eyes with guilt and avaricious rue – possesses the young man to drape his red coat over Al's shoulders instead of his own.

Which is crazy.

Gold erupts (as the elder brother turns to him, face pale as the snow, the ice, the cold) and it's that look again, and even though it scares him Al knows that he's not alone – it's really Edward who's afraid.

He looks at him as if his soul may freeze over and steal away into the frozen fog of the morning...

(and it's cold)

...because he's so afraid of losing Al that it hurts them both.

It's crazy...

_He must be crazy._

_..._because if he dies all stiff and frozen – a statue of someone who was logical, someone who was filled with life but it empty now, cold – he wants to at least have been a dutiful older brother first.

The words are hardly a whisper, and that's the most his lungs can manage.

(There are icicles spearing into his organs, and his blood is hard, glossy streams of unmoving liquid.)

"...Gotta stay w-warm... A-al..."

Al doesn't even know what warm feels like anymore.

That's half the reason Ed's coat is on his shoulders.

"Brother –" he answers, his voice is so loud and perfect and unharmed by the cold – _so cold _– that it cracks the ice beneath them and puts dents in the metal that encases his soul.

He doesn't even get to finish was he was going to say, Ed's already nodding in agreement...

(and it's _crazy_, because he can't even remember what he would have said – what more was there?)

...and that's the end of it.


	6. VI

_**Disclaimer: **_Once upon a time, FMA did not belong to me.

_**A/N: **_Another beside talk with Al and Ed, things they could talk about when they're in bed pop into my head all the time. Just cuz they show that scene so often, it seems to be where most of the important conversations play out. :)

* * *

"_**...if you hurt others, you cannot sleep. Revenge spawns more revenge." **_

_**-Chief of Ishbal- **_

* * *

_**VI**_

"I'm a hypocrite."

Al looked over at his brother from the other side of the room. The book he had been reading gently closing after he marked his page. He set it down beside him and heaved a labored sigh before turning to Edward.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, and although he was concerned over Ed's sudden declaration – despite the fact that these out-of-nowhere conversations were becoming more and more common – he was also happy for the company. Maybe, though, that's why Ed had been doing this so often as of late. Lord knows the boy needs his sleep.

"Revenge, Al. I'm talking about revenge."

It was probably dumb of him to hope so readily that this might actually be a lighthearted conversation.

"What do you mean brother?" He was honestly confused. He couldn't remember the last time revenge had been a topic of conversation between them. Talking about it only made Edward unnecessarily distressed. Besides, he already knew where his brother stood on the whole concept.

"I liked to you about revenge. I don't think it's right, sure, but I'd be ridiculous if I didn't admit that I wasn't avenging you." He rolled onto his back, his arms crossing behind his head in a very familiar position. Al considered attempting to mask his obvious confusion, but the expression on Ed's face worried him.

"I don't understand." Who could Ed even be after to avenge him? He honestly couldn't really think of anyone who had really done him wrong, and the ones he _could _think of they were already fighting. Edward made no acknowledgment of his puzzlement after this, but his flesh hand wandered pointedly up toward his face, hiding his eyes and pressing against his sinuses. His throat worked uselessly, as if he were trying to swallow past something, and his hesitation was enormous.

"Ed, what's wrong?" Al sat up suddenly in concern. What was he talking about?

Edward made a low, guttural noise in the back of his throat, pressing the butt of his palm harder against his eyes, "I'm gonna get revenge on the bastard that killed you, and I won't stop until he's handed every last bit of what he took from you back." He spit out the words as if they were the most vile and grotesque things he had ever had the displeasure of knowing, growling and tensing as his hands coiled into fists.

Alphonse simply looked at him for a moment, trying to discern through the dark of the room what exactly he was talking about.

(Because surely he wasn't talking about _himself_.)

Unless he was.

It made sense in one sudden flash of realization...

– as most things did –

_...and Al saw Edward outside of himself. This phantom Ed would walk to his counterpart's bedside, look down upon the poor, pitiful human that lay there, overcome by guilt, and he would laugh. "What the hell – " He would begin with this, his face would then turn suddenly very serious and very frightening, then he would say, " – what the hell do you have to be upset about?" His face would twist in unveiled disgust and he would look over at Al, gold eyes blazing, "Sorry you have such a terrible older brother." And Al would say..._

..."_Stop _it." Al said, shaking his head vigorously in attempt of banishing the vision of his brother, a walking semblance of regret and clear self-disgust. He felt his own guilt gnawing angrily at the corners of his soul, pulling on his bearings, "_Stop. _Right now. We're not doing this again."

Edward turned to him suddenly, face clear of all obstacles now, searching desperately for the sight of his brother's soul. There was a look of protest in his eyes, but after a moment he simply regarded Alphonse in silence. Al bore into his brother's golden gaze, trying to understand. Why and how and when and all sorts of other things. _Why can't you forgive yourself? _He wondered. _What's stopping you?_

"Okay," Ed resigned, sounding more tired than he had in days, "okay, I'll stop." There was a pause...

...and then...

"Sorry, Al."

"Yeah, Ed, I know."


	7. VII

_**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist.

_**A/N: **_I wrote this after my friend KK told me about an analogy she heard about lefties being better than lefties (because she is, in fact, a lefty) and being a righty, at first I despised the whole idea and wouldn't even let her say it to me. But then when she said it, not only did it sound painfully familiar (so when she said, "I made it up, honest!" I said, "No fucking way, you freaking dumb ass. You did not, we all know." but I'm pretty sure she honestly believes that she did.) but it also reminded me so much of FMA I wanted to shout for joy! So since I don't know the actual quote, I'm gonna just quote her :P Haha.

* * *

"_This is my analogy for why lefties are better than righties,"_

"_Don't even talk to me,"_

"_No! Listen, lefties are always looking ahead, to the future, but righties are always stuck looking back, into the past."_

"_That makes absolutely no sense."_

"_When you're writing, because righties can only see the words they've already written, but lefties cover up what they've written and look ahead to where they're going to write."_

"_That's so stupi – Hold on! Say it again!"_

-a conversation with KK and Maya :)

* * *

**_VII_**

Edward's hand shook like a leaf, and his scowl grew rapidly in its intensity. Eyes narrowed and brows drawn he contemplated the slip of paper before him with a single mindedness that was almost frightening. His scrutiny was mind blowing, and he glared at both his hand and the paper in turn, willing them to somehow come to an agreement and work together.

No! He had to do this himself. No – this was his punishment, his retribution, the very start of it – this was just one of the hurdles he would have to clear before he reached his final goal.

All he had to do...

It wasn't even hard. How could he expect to get Alphonse's body back for him if he couldn't do the simplest of tasks? He was pathetic. This was ridiculous.

He couldn't even...

What a waste of time. On second thought, who the hell needs this? Edward frowned tremendously at his own quivering limb before slamming it on the table and dragging his flesh fingers through his blond locks in frustration.

Sighing, he admitted defeat. _He would _need this. Especially if he wanted to fix Al.

First he had to...

_Damn it! _Damn it all to hell!

Honestly! He felt like a toddler, bumbling over himself. At breakfast he'd spilled food on his shirt, in the living room he'd accidentally broken a cup, and was it too much to ask that at least today he should have one thing go right.

_The most important thing too, _he reminded himself. He couldn't always just clap away their problems, if he wanted to make and sort of ground he was going to need this.

Edward's golden eyes hardened in determination.

Al needed him.

All he had to do was...

There.

With a happy sigh he leaned back in his seat, tossing his feet haphazardly onto the surface of the desk.

_There._

_._

**Alphonse Elric.**

**.**

"Look! Al! I wrote your name! And you can actually read it this time!"


End file.
